Home On The Range (AR)
This story takes place several years before High Riders, and is an alternative version of the Lancer story. It's a sequel to He's My Brother and Banished In Boston.
***
"I don't know what to do about that boy," Murdoch Lancer said. "I've been tempted, more than once, to take him out to the barn and warm his backside. He's been impossible lately."
Scott shot an alarmed look at his father, who was sitting at the desk in the great room, and hoped Murdoch knew better than to ever hit his brother. Johnny's mother had let her men hit him far too many times when he was a child. Murdoch had seen the scars too when Johnny first came home a year ago. In fact, Murdoch had spun away to be sick in the basin the first time he saw the faded marks of old beatings on his younger son's back, after Johnny was shot off his horse and they carried him upstairs.
Scott thought his father and brother would be fine when they left Boston together at the end of January, on their way home to the ranch while he finished his last semester at Harvard. There had been no indications of trouble in the two short scrawls Johnny had sent to Scott, or even in his father's longer letters.
But it was clear something was wrong as soon as Scott returned to the ranch in June.
Johnny was late for dinner that night and hadn't bothered to change out of his work clothes. It was no great surprise that he needed a haircut but he also needed a shave. He gave Scott a grin, but the smile didn't quite reach his guarded eyes. He disappeared as soon as he'd finished eating and didn't join the rest of the family in the great room at all that evening.
Scott knocked on his brother's door when he went upstairs but there was no answer and the room was empty when he peeked inside.
Although Scott knew it had to be after midnight when Johnny came in, the boy was already gone in the morning when Scott stopped in his room again. An unmade bed and scattered clothing were the only signs of him.
Murdoch was breakfasting alone in the kitchen.
"He probably grabbed something to eat with the hands," Murdoch said when Scott asked where his brother was. "It's a good way to avoid talking to me in the morning."
"What's wrong, sir?" Scott asked after they finished their meal and moved to the great room to go over the day's work.
He didn't like Murdoch's answer.
"I don't think hitting him is the answer, sir," he said.
Murdoch sighed. "I don't know what the answer is. I'm at the end of my rope."
"I thought the two of you were getting along pretty well."
"We were," Murdoch said. "Everything was fine until about a month ago. Then he started acting up. It's almost as if he's daring me to hit him, Scott. He keeps pushing the limits, seeing just how far he can go. And I can tell you he's perilously close. I won't tolerate much more of his disrespect."
Scott frowned. "Did something happen a month ago?"
"No," Murdoch said. "Not that I know of."
"Have you talked to Sam Jenkins?"
"A little bit," Murdoch admitted. "Sam says most sixteen-year-old boys are impossible."
"Johnny is growing fast. He's shot up a few inches since I saw him in January," Scott said. "And started to shave too."
"You mean, he's started to need to shave at least once every week or so," Murdoch growled. "He doesn't bother, most of the time."
"Is he getting his work done?"
"Yes," Murdoch conceded. "He does get his work done. But he complains about working with Paul or me. He says I treat him like a kid."
"Do you, sir?"
Murdoch rubbed his face wearily. "Scott, your brother isn't a child but he's not very old either. I know he managed on his own for a long time but that doesn't change the fact he's still only sixteen or that I'm responsible for him. I don't want him drinking in the saloon with the older hands or playing poker with them, or lord knows what else. He's too young."
"You can't put the genie back in the bottle, sir," Scott said.
Murdoch had read the Arabian Nights too. He frowned at his older son.
"We'll see about that."
***
"So, talk to me, Johnny," Scott said that afternoon in the barn. They'd returned early from the range. Johnny's horse had gone down while he was chasing a stray, at full speed as usual, and thrown him. The fall knocked the boy out cold but he insisted he was fine. Paul O'Brien, the ranch foreman, insisted just as firmly that he head back to the hacienda and sent Scott along with him.
Johnny's horse was lame and he had to ride double with his brother, leading his horse behind them at a walk.
Inside the barn, Johnny bent down to check his horse's leg with a wince he couldn't quite hide. "Nothing to talk about," he said.
"How is Barranca coming along?" Scott asked. A flash of Johnny's old smile rewarded him.
"He's good," Johnny said, his eyes going to the young palomino that had nickered at him eagerly from a box when he came into the barn. "He's going to make a really good cow pony. One of the best."
"Are you going to make a really good cowboy?" Scott teased. His brother's smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Johnny dropped his head and didn't answer.
The barn door opened again and they both turned. Cipriano, second in command after Paul, came in to see who had returned early and why. He took one look at Johnny and reached for the bay's reins.
"I will see to your horse, Juanito," he said. "You go up to the house with your hermano."
"I can take care of him," Johnny protested.
Cipriano said something to him in Spanish, too rapidly for Scott to follow. Johnny replied in the same language and Cipriano said something else, frowning. Johnny looked rebellious but he gave up the reins to the older man and walked out of the barn.
"What did Cipriano say?" Scott asked curiously, following him.
"Nothing," Johnny said, stopping at the pump. He pulled his shirt off and pumped cold water over his head and torso, sluicing off the dust.
"Wouldn't you be better off soaking in a hot bath?" Scott asked, frowning at the bruises visible on his brother's thin frame. "That was quite a fall."
Johnny pulled his shirt back on, but didn't bother to button it. "I'm fine," he said. "Want to go into town and get a beer?"
"Not today," Scott said, putting his hand on Johnny's arm. "I think you should go up to your room and rest awhile."
"I don't need a nap," Johnny snarled, pulling away from his brother. "Don't you start too."
"Start what?" Scott asked.
Johnny's vivid blue eyes were stormy. "Never mind," he said, turning away. "I'll see you later, Scott."
"Johnny!" Scott used his cavalry officer voice, without even thinking. "Don't walk away from me."
He should have known it wouldn't work. Johnny gave him a look as if he was crazy and kept right on going.
Scott felt his temper snap. He dove after his brother, tackling him and bringing him down. Johnny was wiry and stronger than Scott expected, but he was still six years younger and not full grown. They rolled across the ground, but Scott pinned him down finally, careful not to let the younger boy hit his head again.
"What is wrong with you?" he asked, while Johnny still struggled furiously to break his hold and get up. "Stop it, Johnny. Stop it, right now, before you hurt yourself."
Johnny gave in suddenly. He closed his eyes briefly when Scott got up.
"Are you all right?" Scott asked sharply. "Are you dizzy?"
"I'm fine," Johnny said through his teeth. "Just leave me alone. I don't need you or anybody else."
Scott didn't agree, looking at his brother's pale face.
"Then you should do a better job at looking after yourself," he shot back. "Go on up to your room, right now."
Johnny picked himself up, refusing a hand from his brother, and limped toward the house without a backward glance. Scott watched him go thoughtfully. Something was going on here that he didn't begin to understand. Johnny had been fiercely independent from the day he first met him, but Scott thought he'd also come to accept - and even appreciate - the fact that his father and older brother intended to look out for him. He didn't understand why Johnny was shutting them out now, but he was determined to find out.
***
"Something has to have happened," Scott said to his father later, while Sam Jenkins was upstairs with Johnny. Scott had hesitated but finally decided he had to send for the local doctor, no matter how angry it might make his brother. Murdoch rode in just after the doctor arrived and they were both waiting downstairs to hear what he had to say. "When did this start?"
Murdoch shook his head. "It was about a month ago. And nothing happened, Scott. One morning he was fine, and the next day he was snapping if you said anything to him. And it's just getting worse. I was hoping maybe he'd settle down when you came home."
"He's not talking to me either," Scott said. "I tackled him in the yard this afternoon, after he was hurt, and forced him to go up to the house. I might have hurt him even more."
"I doubt that," Murdoch said. "You were careful, weren't you?"
"As careful as I could be," Scott said ruefully. "That doesn't excuse it, though. I was furious at you yesterday when you said you wanted to take him out to the barn and then I beat him up."
"It's not the same," Murdoch said.
"It's not that different."
Sam Jenkins came down the stairs and they paused.
"Is he all right?" Murdoch asked while Scott got up to pour a drink for the doctor.
"I think he will be," Sam said. "Thank you, Scott. It's good to see you home again."
"It's good to be home, sir. Did Johnny bite your head off?"
A ghost of a smile appeared on the doctor's face. "He tried. What's wrong with that boy? He's just as edgy as he was when he first came here but he wouldn't talk to me about it."
"We were just discussing that," Scott said. "How badly is he hurt?"
The doctor sipped his drink, frowning. "It could have been a lot worse and it could be better. He got a good bang on the head and he has a concussion. I want you to wake him every two hours through the night. Make him talk to you. If he's coherent, you can let him go back to sleep. If he's disoriented, make sure you keep him awake, no matter what you have to do."
"Johnny's going to hate that," Scott said.
"It's important. Are you sure you both understand what you need to do?"
Scott and Murdoch looked at each other and nodded.
"What else?" Murdoch asked.
"Other than the concussion, it's not too bad. He wrenched his knee and it would be better if you can persuade him to stay off it, but I won't expect you to work miracles."
"He was holding his ribs too," Scott said.
"I'm not surprised. He has a lot of bruises but I don't think he broke anything this time," Sam said. "He needs to rest for a few days. No riding and no chores. You don't have to keep him in bed all day tomorrow if he insists on getting up, but I don't want him going far and someone should be around to keep an eye on him."
Scott glanced at his father and then looked at the doctor. "He'll really hate that. Johnny's been a bit difficult lately, sir."
"So I gathered from his behavior when I examined him." The doctor focused on the older man, sitting silently behind his desk. "Tell me what's going on, Murdoch. You told me Johnny was acting up, but you didn't tell me it was anything near this bad."
"I don't know, Sam." Murdoch's head was down. "I just don't know. He's a lot like his mother."
Scott gave his father a startled look, but the doctor spoke up first.
"No, he's not," Sam said. "Johnny looks like his mother but he reminds me of his pigheaded father."
Murdoch glared at his old friend and Scott bit back a smile. "Would you consider staying for supper and spending the night?" he asked the doctor. "I think we should talk about this more."
"I think maybe we better," Sam agreed.
***
Scott took Johnny's supper upstairs on a tray an hour later. He picked up his brother's shirt from the floor and lined up his boots. The room was still curiously bare, Scott thought, even if it did usually look like a whirlwind had passed through. Johnny's Colt hung in its holster over the bedpost, his rifle stood in a corner, and his old saddlebags hung on a peg on the back of the door. There were no pictures or books out, nothing on the walls. It looked like the room of someone who was prepared to pack everything into his saddlebags and move on.
Johnny stirred and Scott went over to the bed, sitting down on the edge. "Hi."
Johnny looked up at him, his blue eyes dazed. "Hi," he said after a minute. "What happened?"
"You don't remember?"
Johnny thought about it. "Fell off. Damn horse put his foot down wrong or something. Is he all right?"
"I think so," Scott said. "I'll make sure."
"And we had a fight too." Johnny's eyes fastened on his brother. "Outside the barn. Sorry."
"I'm the one who should be sorry," Scott said. "I could have hurt you worse."
"I'm all right."
"Do you want something to eat? I brought up some supper for you, although I'm afraid the doctor says you'll have to settle for soup and toast tonight."
"I'm not too hungry. Think I'll just go back to sleep."
"How about some water first?"
Johnny nodded and immediately looked sorry. His hands went up to his head, and Scott pulled them away gently.
"You're going to have a headache for a while. Doc says you have a concussion."
"Didn't need a doctor for that," Johnny grumbled, taking a sip from the glass of water Scott handed him. He gave it back after just a few swallows and closed his eyes.
Scott waited until he was sure Johnny was asleep again before he went downstairs.
"He woke," he reported to Murdoch and the doctor as he took his place at the table. "Just for a few minutes."
"Was he alert?" Sam asked immediately.
"He seemed a little confused at first," Scott said. "But he remembered right away what happened."
"Good," Sam said. "Wake him again in two hours."
Sam stopped in Johnny's room early the next morning before he left on his rounds. The boy was asleep, turned over on his side. Scott dozed in the chair next to the bed.
Sam put a hand on Johnny's head and the blue eyes cracked open. "I don't care who the president is," Johnny said groggily. "Just go away."
Sam smiled. Murdoch had reported that Johnny was increasingly cranky as they woke him during the night to ask him questions. "In a minute," he said, turning the boy over on his back so he could look into his eyes. "How are you feeling, young man?"
"Tired," Johnny complained. "Somebody wakes me up to ask stupid questions every time I go to sleep."
Sam grinned at him, his brown eyes twinkling. "They were probably following some damn doctor's orders. But I think you can sleep now for as long as you want."
"It's time to get up," Johnny said, looking at the light from the windows. "Past time."
"Not for you, John."
Johnny shifted slightly in the bed and winced.
"You're going to hurt for a few days," Sam said. "Just take it easy. No riding and keep your weight off that knee. I'll stop back the day after tomorrow and then we'll see."
"I could ride, Doc," Johnny objected.
"You probably could but there's no need for it and you won't," Sam said. "Promise me, Johnny."
The blue eyes looked reluctant but the doctor didn't back down. "All right," Johnny finally said.
"Good. You get some sleep now and I'll see you Thursday."
Sam signaled Scott to follow him out of the room when Johnny's eyes closed.
"You need some sleep too," the doctor recommended.
"I'm OK." Scott rubbed his eyes blearily. "Is he really all right?"
"He'll be fine," Sam said. "By the end of the day, he'll be driving you crazy."
Scott smiled. "He's already driving us crazy."
***
Thursday afternoon, Scott was repairing the corral when his brother, still limping a little, came down the path from the house. Doc had just cleared him to ride but wouldn't let him work for a few more days. Johnny carried his rifle and saddlebags.
Scott's eyes narrowed and he put the hammer down. "Where are you going?"
Johnny scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt. "I'm leaving."
"What?"
"Not in the dark and not without telling you." Johnny lifted his head and looked straight at his brother. "You said last year I was running away like a little kid. I'm not. I'm telling you."
Scott was thinking rapidly. The last few days had been relatively peaceful. Johnny seemed subdued and followed most of the doctor's orders without many complaints. He hadn't said much to Murdoch, or to anyone else, but there hadn't been any shouting either. He had even stayed with the rest of the family in the great room the night before, instead of disappearing after supper, and listened while they read aloud.
"Why are you leaving?" Scott asked.
Johnny's face was expressionless. "It's time. I never stayed in one place so long. Wouldn't have stayed this long if I hadn't said I'd tell you first before I left."
"The real reason, Johnny."
Johnny shrugged. "There doesn't have to be a reason for everything, Boston. I just don't feel like staying."
"Look, I'll talk to Murdoch," Scott said. "I know the two of you have been butting heads lately."
"Won't make any difference." Johnny's face was remote. "It's not Murdoch, Scott. It's me. I want to move on."
"Where are you going? You're not going back to hiring out your gun?"
"Nope," Johnny said. "Everyone thinks Johnny Madrid's dead and I reckon I'll leave him that way."
"So what are you going to do?"
Johnny shrugged again. "Don't know exactly."
"Did you tell Murdoch?"
"Just now," Johnny said softly.
Scott was amazed he hadn't heard the explosion. He was also amazed that Murdoch hadn't locked his little brother in his room.
"Are you telling me he's going to just let you ride out of here?"
"He doesn't have any choice," Johnny said flatly. "And neither do you. You can't stop me from going, sooner or later."
Scott knew that was true, unless they really did lock Johnny in his room and post guards. If he thought it would work, he would try it but he knew it wouldn't.
"Later would be better than sooner," he said stubbornly. "Maybe by then you'll come to your senses."
Johnny shook his head, stepping around his brother and going into the barn.
Scott followed him inside. He was surprised when Johnny saddled the bay.
"You're not taking Barranca?"
Johnny didn't look at the palomino. "Nope," he said, his head down.
Scott didn't understand. Johnny loved that horse. "Barranca is yours, Johnny. Murdoch gave him to you."
"And I'm leaving him," Johnny said, his face closed. He led the bay outside and swung into the saddle. He looked at Scott and hesitated, then turned the bay quickly and spurred it. He galloped out of the arch.
Scott watched him go until he disappeared down the road. Then he walked up to the house.
Murdoch was sitting at his desk, staring blindly at nothing. He glanced at Scott and then looked down.
"You couldn't talk him out of it either?" Murdoch's voice was tight.
Scott shook his head and moved over to the cabinet to pour two drinks. "What did he tell you, sir?"
"Not much," Murdoch said heavily. "Have I been too hard on him, Scott?"
"He said it wasn't you." Scott picked up the whiskey bottle and balanced it in his hand for a minute. The room was quiet, too quiet, as he tilted the bottle and set one of the glasses on the desk in front of his father.
"What is it then?" Murdoch asked, at last.
"I don't know," Scott said. "He said he just wanted to move on, that he'd never stayed in one place for so long."
"That's what he told me too. Do you believe him?"
Scott sat in the chair opposite the desk. "No, I don't," he said. "Johnny loves the ranch. He missed it so much while we were in Boston, just before you came to get him, that I thought he was sick. I don't believe him but I didn't know how to stop him either."
"Should I have forced him to stay?" Murdoch asked.
Scott shook his head helplessly. "I only wish I knew how we could."
***
"I hear Murdoch finally got rid of that half-Mexican brat," a loud voice said in the saloon. "He ran off two days ago, just like his mama."
Scott froze. He had come into town with Paul O'Brien to pick up supplies and they had stopped for a beer while they waited for the store to fill the order. Neither of them felt like talking. They were sitting silently in an alcove, off to the side of the bar, when a noisy group of ranchers came in and took a table in the front of the nearly empty room.
Someone else laughed. "It's about time," he said. "Everybody knows that kid wasn't Murdoch's anyway, most likely."
Scott started to rise and Paul put a hand on his arm to restrain him.
"No, son," he said quietly.
"His mama sure was pretty," the first voice said. "And she sure was willing too, from what I hear. Old Murdoch was mighty selfish to try to keep her all to himself when she lived here. One of my hands says he ran into her once near Sonora, after she ran off from here, and she gave him and his partner the best ride they ever had, both of them. She was working in a cantina."
"Yeah, Frank? Was the kid there?"
"He didn't see the kid, Deke," Frank said. "Not that a man would necessarily notice a kid when he had both hands and a few other things busy on something as fine as that."
"She never did anything like that when she was here," a third voice protested.
"Oh yeah? How do you know, Micah?" Deke said. "She run off from here, didn't she, with another man? And she took her kid with her. You think for a minute that Murdoch Lancer would have let her get away with that kid if he was really his son?"
Paul pushed Scott down again, his hand biting into the younger man's arm. "Quiet," he hissed. "I want to hear the rest of this."
"Murdoch looked for that boy for years," Micah said. "He seems like a good boy too. He did real well on the spring roundup. Of course, he did get into that dust-up with your boys, Deke. I heard he beat the three of them, even though they're older than he is."
"It wasn't a fair fight," Deke said angrily. "Everyone knows he's a gunfighter."
"I didn't hear he pulled his gun," Micah said. "Just that he took on all three of your boys and was whupping them good when Paul O'Brien broke it up. Your oldest boy went home afterward, didn't he?"
"That little bastard broke Danny's jaw," Deke said.
"That can happen when you wag it too much," Micah observed.
"You looking for a fight too, Micah?" Deke demanded.
"Not me," Micah said mildly.
"What started the fight, anyway?" Frank asked. "I never did hear the whole story."
"My boys were just having some fun," Deke said sullenly. "No harm in that."
"They didn't say something about Johnny Lancer's mother, did they?" Micah asked.
"They might have," Deke said. "Why shouldn't they? Everyone in the valley knows she was a whore and that kid ain't really no Lancer."
Scott wrenched himself away from Paul, his eyes furious. "Don't try to stop me again," he said to the foreman.
"I'm going to help you, in a minute," Paul said grimly, his voice low. "But first I want to hear what those damn Farley kids said to Johnny a month ago."
"A month ago?" Scott stared at Paul, open-mouthed.
Paul nodded. "Johnny started to act up right after the roundup."
"They say that to his face, that he isn't really a Lancer?" Frank asked, as Scott clenched his fists. "Kinda dangerous, him being a gunfighter and all."
"My boys ain't afraid of no half-breed bastard," Deke said. "Murdoch has a hell of a nerve, bringing that boy here to live with respectable people. There's no need for it either. He has another boy, a real American son, even if he is a tenderfoot. He don't need no Mexican whore's son."
Paul stood up. He looked angrier than Scott had ever seen him. "I've heard enough now," he said. "I'm going to break Deke's jaw, to match his son's."
***
Scott paused outside the hacienda, looking at Paul. "I don't know how to tell Murdoch about this."
"Someone has to tell him," Paul said. "I'll do it, son, if you want but I figure the two of you need to talk about it anyway."
Scott nodded. "You're right," he sighed. "I'll tell him."
"Get it over with," Paul suggested. "It's not going to get any better from waiting."
Scott pushed the front door open. Murdoch was in the great room, working on the books. Scott sat down in front of the desk and rubbed absently at bruised knuckles. Paul had broken Deke's jaw but Scott had landed a few punches too. Two of Deke's sons had charged into the saloon and joined the brawl. Scott had positively enjoyed taking them out of it.
"Scott?" Murdoch frowned. "What's wrong?"
Scott looked down. "Paul and I heard something about Johnny while we were in town."
"Something about where he is?" Murdoch's face brightened.
"No, sir. We heard something that may explain why he left." Scott studied his boots for a long time before he finally got the next sentence out. "Johnny thinks he's not really your son."
"What?" Murdoch stared at his older son. His jaw tightened and two spots of color suddenly burned on his cheekbones.
Scott definitely did not feel comfortable discussing this with his father. He focused somewhere else, not on his father's angry face.
"We heard some of the other ranchers talking in the saloon today about Johnny and his mother," he said carefully. "From what they said, Johnny heard the same thing about a month ago during the roundup."
"That's what was wrong? And why he left?" Murdoch looked stunned when Scott sneaked a glance at him.
"I think so," Scott said.
Murdoch dropped his head into his hands. He didn't move for a long time, so long that Scott was worried.
"Sir?"
Murdoch raised his head. Those spots of hectic color still burned on his cheeks, but his eyes weren't furious any more. They were sad. "Scott, have you ever seen anybody with eyes the same shade of blue as Johnny's?"
"No." Scott had been trying not to think about his brother's vivid blue eyes for the past few hours, or the hurt they had been hiding.
"I have," Murdoch said. "Just twice before. My grandmother's eyes were exactly that same blue, my grandmother's and my little brother's. Back in Scotland, those dark blue eyes are one of the things her family is known for and the color is woven into their tartan. It's a blessing, they say, to have a child with those eyes. It's also rare. The family didn't often see them more than once or twice in every generation."
Scott stared at his father, speechless. "Why didn't you ever tell Johnny that?"
"I never thought to tell him," Murdoch said. "I've never doubted he was my son. I wouldn't doubt it even if he didn't have my grandmother and brother's eyes, no matter what happened later with his mother. I know he's mine."
"You told him he looks like his mother," Scott pointed out. "You told him that over and over again."
"He does, except for his eyes," Murdoch said. "You look a lot like your mother too. But I still know you're both my sons. Doc is always saying Johnny is as pigheaded as I am."
"He's right," Scott said without thinking. Murdoch scowled and he flushed. "Sorry, sir."
"We have to find your brother." Murdoch stood up and paced restlessly across the room. "Do you think he went back to the border?"
Scott shook his head. "I doubt it. He didn't want to go back to being Johnny Madrid."
"What else could he do?"
"He might hire out as a ranch hand somewhere," Scott suggested. "He's not bad at it, you know."
"I know," Murdoch said shortly. "He's good at it, especially with the horses. But he's so young and it can be a dangerous job. I wouldn't hire a boy his age."
"Everyone doesn't feel that way, sir."
Murdoch's face was bleak. Jobs on some ranches were nearly as dangerous as gun fighting. And the worst ranches were the ones most likely to hire a sixteen-year-old boy.
"He won't use his name, will he?" he said softly. "Either Lancer or Madrid."
"No," Scott agreed. "He won't."
"We're back to looking for a needle in a haystack." Murdoch's face was frustrated.
***
Johnny rode north, but he didn't get far past the Lancer boundary. He didn't feel so good, he admitted to himself, after a few hours in the saddle. His knee ached miserably and so did his head. Doc had said he could ride, but he most likely didn't have so long a ride in mind. Johnny's mouth tilted up as he pictured Doc's indignant face. If he were home, he'd probably be hustled upstairs to bed before he could even protest and someone would be trying to ladle hot soup into him.
He wiggled his shoulders, trying to loosen them. He really wouldn't mind some soup right now or his own warm bed. One good thing, at least he didn't have to admit to Doc that he'd messed up or listen to him lecture. He'd probably never see the blunt doctor again.
It was nearly suppertime at the ranch. Teresa would be helping to set the polished table, and Murdoch, Scott and Paul were probably in the great room, talking over the day.
Johnny could practically hear the voices murmuring over the soft chink of plates and smell Maria's cooking. The big kitchen would be overheated now, steam rising from the simmering pots and pans on the iron range. Maria would be waving her wooden spoon, ready to stir one of the pots or threaten dire consequences to anyone who snitched one of her sugar cookies from the jar and ruined his dinner. The Mexican housekeeper always had a warm smile for him, usually a treat too, and a hug if he would let her - even when she also scolded him furiously. She'd light into him now, he thought, and pushed that idea away.
That brought him back to picturing Murdoch and Scott in the great room and he definitely didn't want to think about them.
There was no sense in thinking about the ranch or any of the people who lived there. He didn't belong there. Never had. He wasn't going back.
He'd figured on riding as far as the next town that night and getting some supplies, but he decided to stop and camp anyway. He found a place above the river, watered his bay and tethered him so he could graze, and crawled into his bedroll before sunset. He didn't bother to gather wood and build a fire. There wasn't anything to cook and the blankets would keep him warm enough in June. He fell asleep almost before he pulled his blanket up.
He knew he'd made a mistake when he heard an animal growl during the night and his horse whinny anxiously. He grabbed his gun and sat up blearily, trying to peer through the darkness.
The cat snarled again, not nearly far enough away, and Johnny fired a shot, hoping to scare it off. His stomach churned and his head still ached. Lightning flickered and he heard thunder rumble close behind.
"Great," he muttered. "Just great."
The rain, when it came, soaked him through in seconds. The downpour didn't last long, but it was sure wet. Johnny rolled up his sodden blankets, picked up his saddlebags and rifle, and headed toward his horse. He might as well keep riding because he wasn't going to get a fire lit now.
He finished saddling up and froze as he heard the cat again, even closer. He pulled his rifle out of the scabbard and turned, listening and scanning the darkness carefully. His eyes narrowed and he took a few steps forward, fired once into the inky black trees and then stopped, listening again.
He heard something and whirled around. His horse was gone. The terrified animal had pulled the stakes right out of the rain-softened ground.
"Damn it!" Johnny kicked at the ground, forgetting about his sore knee, and lost his balance. He fell heavily into the mud.
"Damn," he whispered again and swiped at his streaked face with his hand. The mud clung to his skin and clothes and seeped into his boots. They squelched unpleasantly when he stood up.
The cat snarled again, farther down the hill, and he heard his poor horse scream.
"Damn."
Johnny hadn't cried for a long time, not since he was 10 years old, and he told himself fiercely he wasn't going to start now.
***
"My grandfather employs some investigators," Scott said slowly. "They're the ones who found Johnny before in Mexico."
Murdoch scowled. "Absolutely not. I won't ask your grandfather for any favors."
"I'll do anything I have to do to find my brother, as quickly as possible," Scott said. "I wouldn't have found him in the first place if I hadn't stumbled onto the investigators' reports in Grandfather's library. He'd still be in Mexico."
"The Pinkertons might have found him too," Murdoch said stubbornly.
Scott took a deep breath. He hadn't ever wanted to tell his father this. He still didn't want to tell his father this, but he wanted to find his brother. "Murdoch, Grandfather's investigators found Johnny a long time ago."
Murdoch paused, his eyes swinging to his older son's face. "What do you mean? How long ago?"
"When Johnny was seven," Scott admitted reluctantly.
Murdoch's eyes widened. "When he was seven?" He stared at Scott in shock. Then his shoulders sagged and he turned away to the windows.
"I'm sorry, sir," Scott said. "I never knew until I found the report in Grandfather's desk after I came home from the army."
"All those years." Murdoch's voice choked. "And Harlan knew, all the time?"
"I don't want to lose any more time, sir. Even if it means going to Grandfather for help."
Murdoch shook his head. "We can't trust him, Scott. Surely you can see that. If he could leave a seven-year-old boy..." His voice broke off.
"It's our best chance," Scott argued. "You said yourself it's like finding a needle in a haystack. Johnny could be anywhere. And we can't even put out posters, not without risking that people will recognize him and realize Madrid isn't really dead."
"It's only been a few days since he left," Murdoch said. "I asked Val to send telegrams out to all the sheriffs around here. Someone has to have seen him."
"Not if he doesn't want to be seen," Scott said.
"It's my decision," Murdoch said sharply. "Not yours. He's my son."
"He's my brother," Scott said, just as stubbornly.
"This is not open for discussion, Scott," Murdoch said.
Scott strode out, slamming the door, and crossed the yard. He resolved he would never say those words to Johnny again, if he ever had a chance to say anything to his little brother again.
He found himself inside the barn before he even stopped to think. Where was he going? There was no point in riding out in search of his brother. He had no idea where to begin to look and he was positive Johnny wouldn't make it easy just now.
He shouldn't have let that boy go, no matter what he had to do to stop him.
Barranca whinnied insistently and Scott stroked the golden colt's long nose, regretting he didn't have a carrot or some sugar for him. "I'm sorry," he said to the horse. "I miss him too."
Barranca nudged him and Scott frowned. The palomino belonged heart and soul to his little brother and Scott suspected it was mutual. Johnny spent hours with him and the horse had to be missing the attention. Johnny probably missed the colt too, Scott thought bleakly. He should have guessed something about what was wrong when his brother left the horse behind. Murdoch had given him the palomino last year for his birthday, but Johnny must have decided he had no right to him, just as he'd decided he had no place on the ranch. Scott sighed heavily and sat down on a hay bale next to Barranca's box.
Something on the ground caught his eye and he reached out curiously. It was a small leather pouch on a worn rawhide string, which had frayed right through.
Memory stirred. It was the charm a Jamaican woman had given his brother, almost a year ago, as they boarded the steamer on the last leg of their trip to Boston. He pictured a dazzling day and the broad, dark face looming over Johnny, saying something about gris-gris. "You wear it, child," she had insisted. "You will need it."
Johnny had smiled and slipped the gift casually around his neck. Scott didn't realize he still wore it. He held the small pouch in his hand, rubbing the smooth leather, and hoped his brother didn't need it now.
***
Sam Jenkins stopped by the ranch on his rounds to see if there was any news. Murdoch had confided to him why Johnny left when he rode into town to ask Val to send the telegrams.
"Nothing at all," Murdoch said glumly. "No one's seen him. Val is sending out more wires."
"Do you think he's camping out? Did he take any supplies?"
"Maria says he didn't take any food," Scott said. He frowned. He had been thinking about something but wasn't sure exactly how to ask or even if he wanted to ask.
"What is it?" Sam said.
"Back in Boston, my old doctor said something about Johnny when he first met him," Scott said slowly. "He said Johnny might not be as stable as I thought because of the way he grew up and that I should be careful. It's not what the doctor meant at the time, but I've been wondering if he might... if this might just be too much for him to cope with."
Murdoch looked puzzled but Scott saw understanding in the doctor's eyes.
"I can't know for sure, but I don't think you have to worry about that," Sam said. "That boy is too stubborn to just give up."
"I hope so," Scott said.
"He heard about this a month ago," the doctor pointed out. "I don't doubt he's hurting, Scott, and I wish you'd find him and straighten him out, but he coped with it for a month while he waited for you to get home."
Scott hadn't thought of that. He nodded. Murdoch, meanwhile, had figured it out. His face got even longer, but he didn't say anything.
"Johnny has a strong survival instinct," Sam said to both of them. "And he's remarkably resilient. He never would have lived this long otherwise."
"How much can he take, though?" Scott asked.
"He can take a lot, Scott. He already has," Sam said sadly. He stood and picked up his hat. "I should be going. You'll let me know if you hear anything?"
"Of course," Scott said.
He and Murdoch were walking the doctor out to his buggy when Paul O'Brien rode through the arch.
"That's strange," Murdoch said. "I wonder what brings Paul in so early."
Paul rode up to the house and dismounted, his face grim.
"What's wrong?" The expression on the foreman's face scared Scott.
"Maybe we better go inside," Paul said slowly, turning his hat over in his hands. "I need to talk to both of you. You too, Doc."
"Tell me now," Murdoch demanded, his eyes locked on Paul's face. "Where's the rest of your crew? Did someone get hurt?"
"There's no easy way to say this," Paul said to his old friend. He took a deep breath. "We found a dead horse out on the range. It was Johnny's bay."
"What happened?" Scott forced the question out past a huge lump in his throat. Murdoch just stared at Paul, not moving.
Paul's face was sad. "It looks like a mountain lion got it, a big one. There wasn't a lot left."
"What about Johnny?" Murdoch's voice was a whisper.
The foreman shook his head. "No trace of him at all. The horse still had its saddle on, and we found Johnny's saddlebags and bedroll. His rifle's gone from the scabbard."
Scott felt a little better when he heard that. "So he probably got a shot at the cat. He's a good shot."
Paul glanced at Murdoch, who had aged ten years in minutes, to see if he would answer. Murdoch shook his head. Paul nodded and put a hand on his friend's slumped shoulders. He looked at Scott, who was staring at both of them expectantly. "He's the best I've ever seen," Paul said at last. "But it doesn't look like he made this shot, Scott. The cat still got his horse."
"Where are the rest of the men?" Murdoch asked while Scott thought about that.
"Cipriano is still trying to pick up a trail, but it looks like it happened a few days ago and the rain didn't leave much of anything for him to go on. Some of the boys are checking the line cabins, to see if maybe Johnny got to one of them and holed up."
Cipriano rode in after dark. Paul and Sam were both sitting in the great room with Murdoch, who hadn't said more than a few words for hours. Scott had walked down to the barn and was leaning on the corral, watching Barranca lope around it in circles. He looked up at the segundo, who shook his head.
"Nothing," he said. "I am sorry, Senor Scott. We found nothing."
***
By sunrise, Johnny had limped a few miles down the road. His clothes were still wet and he was shivering.
More thunderstorms had swept by during the night. At least they washed some of the mud off, he thought, stumbling ahead. There was no point in stopping. The woods were nearly as drenched as he was.
A few hours later, he turned up a narrow road that ran uphill, figuring it might lead to a ranch. A mile or so in, a mudslide had washed out the road. Johnny picked his way around it and plodded ahead.
He heard a horse approaching and looked up warily, lifting the rifle he carried in his hand. A very old man pulled up a buggy and looked at him with pale blue eyes.
"You look like you've had a hard night of it, lad," he said. "Do you think you can get into the buggy?"
Johnny hesitated. "Mister, you can't get through in that buggy. The road's washed out, about a quarter mile down."
"Is it? We'll go back to the house then. Come on," the old man coaxed him, his voice very gentle. "Put that gun down and climb up."
Johnny lowered the rifle wearily, but he didn't move toward the buggy.
"Give it a try," the old man said. "I don't think I can manage to lift you, lad."
He took a step toward the buggy and leaned against it, his head spinning. The old man set the brake and tugged at him. Somehow, between the two of them, Johnny tumbled into the buggy.
He woke up in bed, blissfully warm and dry.
"Shush, child," an unfamiliar voice said and a gentle hand pushed his hair back. "Go back to sleep. You're all right here."
Johnny looked up into a bright-eyed old face, framed by silver hair. She smiled at him and gave him a drink of something hot and sweet that soothed his throat.
"It's all right, I promise, child," she said. "Close those eyes now. Angus will go for your father as soon as he can, but we'll take care of you until then."
"Don't have one," Johnny mumbled and fell asleep.
Sunlight was streaming through the windows when he woke again. He sat up, trying to figure out where he might be, and started to cough, a deep, racking cough that burned his chest. It finally stopped and he pushed back the covers and slid his legs out of the bed. He was barefoot and wearing someone else's nightshirt, slightly too big for him.
The room was small and cleaner than a dog's dish. A patchwork quilt covered the spool bed. A washstand stood by the open window and a warm breeze ruffled snowy white lace curtains. He found his own clothes, freshly laundered and crisply folded, on a straight-backed chair in the corner. His boots were lined up underneath. His holster hung from the back of the chair and his rifle was propped up against the wall behind it.
Johnny pulled his clothes on, buckled his gun belt around his waist and pushed the door open cautiously, looking into a larger room that apparently served as both kitchen and sitting room.
No one was there, and he went out onto the front porch, his eyes alert. There was a well-kept barn and corrals across the deserted yard. Bright flowerbeds ran along the sides of the porch, honeybees buzzing in the quiet, and birds chirped from apple trees. He found the outhouse and used it before he crossed the yard to the barn and looked inside the open double doors.
"Good morning," a cheerful voice said from the shadows inside. The old man, the one who had been driving the buggy, smiled at Johnny. He was cleaning out the stall of a fat, dappled gray horse. "You're feeling better, then. Flora thought you mostly needed a good long sleep, although I don't think she intended for you to get out of your bed today."
"I'm fine," Johnny said. "Who are you?"
The pale blue eyes twinkled. "My name is Angus McDonald. I forgot you wouldn't remember me."
"I remember you," Johnny said. "You picked me up on the road this morning."
"Yesterday morning," the old man said with a smile that puckered his wrinkled face. "You slept around the clock, lad."
Johnny flushed. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to put you to any trouble."
"It's no trouble," Angus said. "You're welcome here."
"Thanks." Johnny reached for the pitchfork. "I can do that."
"There's no need of that," Angus protested, but he let Johnny pull it from his hands. The old man watched closely as the boy took care of the gray, cleaning out the stall and giving him fresh hay and water.
"I wouldn't get too close to him," he suggested. "Foggy is a bit set in his ways and he can be difficult with strangers."
Johnny looked up confidently at the big horse. His eyes fastened on the gray and he murmured something softly in Spanish. Foggy's ears flickered forward, listening, and he nuzzled against the boy's shoulder. Angus continued to watch as the boy slid his hands over the horse, still murmuring something too soft for his old ears to make out. "He's all right," Johnny said.
"You have a way with horses, lad. What happened to your own horse?"
Johnny's face changed. "Cat got him," he said briefly, giving Foggy a final pat and stepping outside the stall. "Anything else I can do for you?"
"No, the chores are done," Angus said. "Come inside and have some breakfast. Flora is in the henhouse but she'll be along any minute."
"No, thanks," Johnny said. "I should be going."
"On foot? No," Angus said definitely. "It's miles to the nearest ranch and even farther to town. And you haven't had anything to eat since yesterday, at least. Come inside or Flora will be having my head as well as yours."
Johnny hesitated, just as he had the day before on the road.
"I could be using a hand from you after breakfast if you have a mind to make yourself useful," Angus suggested. "The barn roof started to leak in the storms the other night and it's past the day when I should be climbing up a ladder to take a look."
"All right," Johnny said slowly.
***
Flora McDonald put a bowl of oatmeal in front of Johnny and poured cream over it liberally. "Eat up," she urged him. "I'll have eggs for both of you in a few minutes."
Johnny looked at the oatmeal. Murdoch ate it sometimes in the morning, but it was a little bland for his taste. He picked up his spoon reluctantly under the force of the old woman's bright eyes.
"Sprinkle some brown sugar on it," she suggested. "You need to put something on those bones of yours to cover them, child. You're too thin."
Johnny crumbled a little sugar on his oatmeal and took a cautious spoonful. It wasn't too bad. He'd eaten a lot worse. He took another spoonful.
Flora poured hot tea into their cups and turned to the stove, cracking eggs into a bowl. "Your father will be worried about you," she said. "But the road is so badly washed out that Angus can't get the buggy through to go and let Murdoch know where you are. We'll have to wait until someone comes by."
Johnny's spoon stopped in mid-air. His blue eyes widened, dismayed. "You know my - you know Murdoch?"
"Of course we do," Flora said. "I've known your father since he was a boy, back in Scotland."
Johnny started to cough again, worse than before. He turned away from the table, his shoulders heaving. Flora frowned at him.
"You're going straight back to bed, Johnny, as soon as you've eaten," she scolded. "Before that cough turns into something worse. You shouldn't be up at all."
"I'm all right," Johnny said. He took a sip of tea but had lost all interest in his oatmeal. "How did you know my name? I don't remember telling you."
"You didn't need to tell us," she said, smiling. "I'd know you anywhere, even if we haven't seen you since you were two years old."
"Because I look just like my mother." Johnny's face was expressionless but his voice was bitter. Flora gave him a thoughtful look.
"I suppose you do look like your mother," she said. "We didn't know her well. But I would know you anywhere because you have your great-grandmother's eyes. They take me right back to Scotland."
Johnny was baffled. "I don't understand."
"I'm from the same village in Scotland where your father's grandmother lived," she said. "You have her eyes, child. Your father's younger brother did too. Murdoch was so proud when you were born. We were both glad to see those bonny blue eyes from home again. Did he never tell you?"
Johnny shook his head. He was confused. This old woman didn't have any reason to lie to him, and everything he knew about reading people told him she was telling the truth. But if she was telling the truth, then something else was true too - something he had decided sadly was just one more of his mother's lies. He suddenly felt very tired again.
Flora stepped over to him and put her hand on his forehead. "You're starting a fever, just as I thought you would be. Back to bed, child, right now."
"No. I should go." Johnny stood up and edged toward the door.
"You will not," she said swiftly. She put a hand on his arm. "You'll just make yourself sicker, Johnny."
"She's right, lad," Angus said, speaking up. "You'll find she usually is. Go on and do as she says."
Johnny looked at them, frustrated. He didn't want to make any more trouble for two old people who had been kind to him. But they weren't going to just let him walk away, he knew, looking at two determined faces. And he really didn't feel good now. He wavered, uncertain.
"Are you forgetting you promised to help me with the barn roof?" Angus asked, the twinkle appearing in his eyes again. "If you leave now, before you're well enough to fix the roof, the next rain is going to be pouring in on poor old Foggy."
The corner of Johnny's mouth turned up at the old man's ploy. Flora saw the smile and pushed him toward the bedroom.
"I'll give you five minutes to get yourself into bed," she said briskly. "Then, I warn you, I'll be coming in with some cough syrup and a poultice for your chest."
"I don't need a poultice," Johnny protested.
"Go, child," she said.
***
Sam Jenkins rode out on his rounds. He usually took a buggy, but the storm had washed out too many roads and a buggy couldn't get through to many of the outlying ranches.
He headed north, past Lancer, after spending the night at another ranch. Murdoch and Scott were still searching for any trace of Johnny but Sam knew Murdoch, at least, didn't have any hope. It had been two days now since they found the horse. Sam sighed, thinking of the boy. He'd had a hard life and Sam didn't want to think about the way it had ended, far too soon. He just hoped it was quick and Johnny hadn't suffered much. He suspected the idea haunted Murdoch and wondered if his friend would ever get over it.
He turned up the road to the McDonald ranch early in the afternoon. Flora and Angus were old friends too and it had been too long since he stopped to see them. They were getting on in years and really shouldn't be out here by themselves, but refused to consider leaving their remote ranch and moving into town. Sam tried to drop in whenever he was in the area. He knew Murdoch stopped to visit as well, but perhaps it was time they talked about setting up a regular schedule of visits to check on the couple.
Sam frowned at the state of the road and made a note to talk to Murdoch about that too. The McDonalds would never be able to get their buggy down the road to town and neither of them should be riding so far. Maybe the chore would help get Murdoch's mind off his younger son.
He'd have to tell Flora and Angus about Johnny, Sam thought, his sadness returning. They had been so excited to hear that he was home again and had looked forward to seeing him. They remembered him from when he was just a little boy and Murdoch used to bring him to visit them. Sam sighed again and nudged his horse forward, around the washout and up the winding hill to the ranch.
He could hear energetic hammering as he approached the house and he frowned. Angus was in good shape for his age, but he shouldn't be hammering like that. Sam urged his horse forward and nearly fell off as he came into the yard.
Johnny Lancer was up on the barn roof, hammering new shingles into place. He stood up as Doc came into the yard and gave him a casual wave.
"Hi, Doc," he said, taking some nails out of his mouth. "Don't let go of the reins like that or you'll fall."
Doc stared at him, his jaw dropping. "Johnny, what are you doing here?" he demanded when he could speak again.
"Helping Angus with the roof," Johnny said. "He lost some shingles in the storm last week."
"Murdoch and Scott think you're dead, son."
"They do?" Johnny looked startled. "How come?"
"Paul and some of the men found your horse out on the range," Sam said. "We thought the cat got you too. Have you been here all this time?"
Johnny nodded slightly, his eyes enormous.
The front door of the house opened and Flora appeared on the porch. "Sam Jenkins!" she said. "It's good to see you. Come and have lunch with us. Johnny, it's past time for you to come down from that roof. What did I tell you about trying to do too much today? And put your shirt on, child, before the sun burns you to a crisp or you take a chill, or both."
"I'm fine," the boy said, but he came down obediently.
Sam took a sharp look at him when he was on the ground and buttoning his shirt. "What did she mean about doing too much? Did you get hurt, Johnny?"
"I'm fine," Johnny said again. "I just had a cold."
Angus snorted, emerging from the barn. "A cold indeed, lad," he said, swiping his hand fondly through the back of the boy's hair, to Sam's surprise, and steering him toward the house. "That cold wasn't more than a cat's whisker from pneumonia and I'm thinking it might be a good idea for you to take a look at him, Sam, since you're here. Flora only let him out of his bed yesterday and neither of us wanted him to be climbing on the roof yet, but he's as stubborn as his father."
"Maybe I better," Sam agreed.
"Aw, Doc," Johnny said.
***
Flora was horrified when she heard about the mountain lion and the horse. "You have to take him home, straight away, Sam. Murdoch must be frantic."
Angus nodded. "You can take Foggy, John," he said.
"I'm not taking your only horse," Johnny objected. "And I'm not going back to Lancer anyway. Doc can tell Murdoch and Scott I'm fine."
Sam looked at the boy, who didn't meet his eyes. "Johnny," he said quietly, while Flora was busy at the stove. "Whatever you may have heard, you do belong at Lancer."
Johnny flushed. His head dropped and he concentrated on moving his lunch around his plate.
"John," Sam said sternly, when he and the McDonalds had finished their meal.
The boy looked up. The blue eyes looked uncertain, so uncertain that the doctor wished desperately he could just put a bandage on this hurt and make it better.
"You need to talk to your father as much as he needs to talk to you," Sam said. "Come on, son. If you've finished not eating your lunch, let's get started. It's a long ride, especially if we're riding double."
Sam was surprised again when Johnny looked over at Angus, who nodded. "He's right, lad. Are you sure you won't take Foggy? You're welcome to him, you know."
Johnny shook his head obstinately. "You might need him," he said.
Flora buttoned up Johnny's jacket securely and gave him a kiss before they left. "Take care of yourself, child," she said. "And don't be a stranger. Come back to see us."
Johnny nodded. "I will," he promised. He grinned faintly. "I still have to finish the barn roof anyway."
"We'll expect to see you soon, lad," Angus said, patting his shoulder. "Now, go on, get home."
"Thank you," Johnny said softly to both of them. They beamed at him and Flora gave him another quick hug. Sam's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Johnny was usually skittish about any show of affection, but he seemed perfectly comfortable with both of the McDonalds. Somehow, the elderly couple had managed to get through the boy's formidable defenses.
Johnny turned away and put his rifle scabbard on Sam's saddle. The doctor mounted first, and then Johnny swung up behind him.
"Doc, where's your rifle?" Johnny asked as soon as they moved out of the yard.
"My what? I don't carry a gun, Johnny," Sam said. "I never have."
"Doc, that's loco," Johnny objected.
"I've been making my rounds since before you were born, and I've never needed a gun," Sam said mildly. "I doubt very much if I could hit anything anyway. I haven't fired a shot since I was about 12 years old."
Johnny was silent for a few minutes. "I'll show you how," he suggested.
Sam chuckled. "I don't think so, but thank you."
The horse picked its way slowly down the hill and they turned onto the main road.
"Johnny?" Sam said.
Johnny sighed. "I'm still here."
"You are Murdoch's son, you know," Sam said quietly. "And he's never doubted it."
"I know." Johnny's voice sounded strained and Sam wished he could see his face.
"How do you know?"
"Something Flora told me," Johnny said. "Guess there is something my mama didn't lie about."
"Then why don't you want to go back to the ranch?"
There was one advantage to having this conversation while riding double, Sam realized. Johnny couldn't answer him with a shrug. There was a long pause.
"Johnny, answer me."
"I don't know exactly," Johnny said finally.
Sam smiled. "It wouldn't be because you don't want to take another chance on caring about your family and getting hurt again, would it?" he asked.
There was a longer silence. Sam didn't push the boy for an answer this time.
They'd been on the road for more than an hour when the horse pulled up abruptly. Johnny jumped down lightly and picked up his foreleg, examining the hoof.
"He's picked up a stone," he said, looking up at Sam. "We're going to have to walk awhile."
"I think I'm ready to walk," Sam said, getting down and straightening out his back with a groan. It had been a long time since he traveled on horseback and it would be a good long time again if he had any choice.
Johnny flicked the stone out of the hoof with his knife. The horse set his foot down again, trembling a little, and Johnny soothed it.
"It's still a long way to Lancer," Johnny said. "We won't get there before dark now, Doc."
"Let's get going then," Sam said.
***
Not long after sunset, Johnny pulled his rifle out of the scabbard. The doctor was puzzled. "I'm sure the horse can carry the weight of your rifle, Johnny. He seems better."
"I can carry it awhile."
"He does seem to be nervous." Sam looked at the horse, which was pulling back on the reins. Johnny tugged on them to make it move ahead.
"Come on, Doc," Johnny said. "We still have a long way to go."
"Too bad we haven't met anyone on the road," Sam said.
"Yeah," Johnny agreed, his voice tired. Sam looked at him sharply. He had examined him, as Angus suggested, before lunch. Johnny's lungs still sounded congested and Sam thought Angus was right and he'd had more than just a cold. The boy was well enough to ride home, but Sam wouldn't have chosen to let him walk so far.
When they heard the cat growl, the horse tried to pull away from Johnny, who dug his heels in but didn't let go of his rifle. Sam grabbed at the reins to help.
"You knew," he said to Johnny.
Johnny sighed. "Not for sure. Quiet for a minute."
Sam watched the boy's intent face as he listened. The cat snarled again, somewhere in the half-light, and Sam had his hands full trying to hold onto his horse. "What should we do, Johnny?" he asked, aware the boy knew more about this than he did.
Johnny looked around. The moon wouldn't be up for hours and the road was rapidly getting darker. He didn't trust the trees. They could start a fire, and that might keep the cat away, but gathering enough wood to keep it going all night would be a problem, a dangerous problem. He'd been thinking about this for more than an hour and still didn't like any of his choices.
"We keep going," he said. "You lead the horse, Doc. Only stay close to his head and keep the rein tight. If the cat comes out of the trees, I want him to go after the horse, not you. If that happens, drop the reins and get clear fast. Don't pay any attention to the horse or to me."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to be on the other side of the horse with the rifle," Johnny said. "It won't be so bad once we get through this stretch of road, past the trees. And then we'll be on the main road and maybe we'll run into someone."
They almost made it. The cat leaped onto the horse's back when they were nearly at the end of the trees. The reins jerked out of Sam's hands as the horse reared. He heard Johnny's rifle go off and a crescendo of growls mixed with the horse's shrill cries. Something flew through the air over his head and the rifle sounded again. The horse galloped down the road. Then there was silence.
"Johnny?" Sam said. "Johnny, are you all right?"
Johnny moved cautiously toward the bloody cat stretched out on the side of the road. He fired another shot into its head and then fished some ammunition out of his pocket to reload the rifle.
"Johnny!" Sam said again. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine, Doc. What about you?"
"I'm not sure I'm fine," Sam said. "But I'm not hurt."
"Good." Johnny finished loading the rifle. "Come on."
"Maybe we should take a rest," Sam suggested, peering at the boy's face.
"No," Johnny said quickly. "Sometimes cats hunt in pairs, Doc."
A few hours later, as he trudged down the road, Sam heard something rumbling. He was so tired he didn't know what it was at first. Then he recognized hoof beats.
The riders were carrying torches. They thundered down the road toward the man and the boy, pulling up at the last minute. Sam looked at Johnny, who gave him a lopsided smile in the moonlight.
"Guess your horse made it back to the ranch," he said, just before a large man jumped off his horse and grabbed his son.
"Johnny!" Murdoch couldn't believe his eyes. He hugged the boy, nearly crushing the breath out of him. "Johnny, I thought I'd lost you."
Scott was off his horse too by then, a huge smile on his face.
"Where have you been?" Murdoch demanded at last, still holding onto Johnny as if he was afraid the boy would disappear if he let go.
Sam spoke up. "He was over at the McDonalds. Angus picked him up after he lost his horse, only their road is washed out and they couldn't get out to tell you he was safe."
Murdoch pulled Johnny in for another hug. "Son, you took years off my life this week," he said softly into the silky dark hair.
"Sorry," Johnny said, just as quietly. Murdoch patted his back and finally released him reluctantly.
"Let's get you both back to the ranch," he said. "You're riding with me, Johnny. Scott, will you take Sam?"
***
Scott stopped in his brother's room later and found his father sitting in the chair by the bed. Johnny was asleep. He'd fallen asleep even before they reached the ranch and hadn't stirred when Scott lifted him down from Murdoch's horse and carried him upstairs.
Sam couldn't keep his eyes open either. He assured them Johnny was just exhausted, not hurt, and filled them in quickly before he went to bed himself in one of the guest rooms.
"You need some rest too, sir," Scott said to his father. "You haven't slept much this past week."
Murdoch's face still wore a smile as he looked at Johnny's peaceful face on the pillow. "I'll be fine here, Scott. He might wake up in the night."
"I doubt that," Scott said, but he smiled too.
The smell of bacon woke Johnny finally. He rolled over, recognizing his own bed but not sure how he had ended up in it. He opened his eyes and saw his brother, holding a tray, in the doorway.
"Morning," he said cautiously.
Scott's eyes crinkled. "Good afternoon," he corrected, moving into the room and putting the tray down across Johnny's legs. "Maria thought it was time you had some food. The rest of us have already finished lunch."
Johnny looked at the tray, his eyes widening. "I'm supposed to eat all of that?"
"If you know what's good for you, you better." Scott sat down on the bed and snagged a strip of bacon from the plate. "She will be inspecting the tray, you know, to make sure you've eaten."
Johnny picked up a fork, poking at the eggs. He took a bite and peeked at his brother through long lashes. "Are you mad at me?"
"You don't think I have a right to be?"
Johnny's head drooped.
"What if I decided I didn't belong here and just left, without telling you why?" Scott said. "Would you be mad?"
"Guess so," Johnny conceded.
Scott reached out and tilted his brother's chin up. "Johnny, I thought you trusted me. I'm not angry with you, not exactly, but it does hurt that you didn't trust me enough to tell me what was really going on."
"It wasn't that I didn't trust you." Johnny's voice was soft. "I figured you'd tell me it didn't matter to you."
Scott was surprised. "If you knew that, then why did you leave?"
"Because it did matter," Johnny said candidly. "At least, it did to me. I knew you'd try to make me but I couldn't stay here if it was all just another one of Mama's lies, just like everything else."
Scott could see the pain in those incredibly blue eyes and he shook his head. "Johnny, it's not a lie."
"I know," Johnny said in a small voice.
Scott frowned. Johnny's mother had a lot to answer for, he thought. Despite everything, Johnny had loved her and it had been hard for him to hear that she'd lied to him when she told him his father didn't want him. It had taken a long time for him to finally accept that Murdoch did want him and start to settle into the only real home he'd ever had. He must have been torn apart all over again to hear that Murdoch might not be his father. Scott wondered, not for the first time, how Murdoch could ever have loved that woman.
"You didn't know her," Johnny said, reading his thoughts. "You don't understand."
"Do you?" Scott asked.
Johnny sighed and took a gulp of coffee. "No. Guess I don't, not really."
"You and Murdoch need to talk."
"Yeah." Johnny didn't sound enthusiastic. "Bet he's mad, huh?"
"He was worried out of his mind," Scott said. "Both of us were, Johnny. And then, when Paul found your horse and we thought the cat got you..."
"Sorry," Johnny said.
Scott mussed his brother's hair. "You're an idiot," he said lightly. "Why in the world would you listen to the Farley boys instead of Murdoch or me?"
Johnny grinned a little. "Guess it wasn't so smart, when you put it like that."
"It sure wasn't," Scott said. "You're not making much progress with your breakfast, little brother. Do you want to see Maria charge up here to feed you herself?"
Johnny picked up his fork again hastily.
***
Johnny managed to eat enough so the tray passed the housekeeper's inspection when Scott returned it to the kitchen. Murdoch was sitting in the great room, drinking coffee.
"Is he awake?" Murdoch asked.
"He's getting dressed." Scott dropped into a chair. "He should be down soon."
"How is he?"
"He'll be all right. I think he's still a little confused about his mother."
Murdoch rubbed his face. "Me too."
"Have you ever talked to Johnny about her?"
"No," Murdoch said. "Not really."
"It might help both of you," Scott suggested. He stood up and moved to the door.
"Where are you going?" Murdoch looked alarmed.
"I have work to do," Scott said. "Talk to Johnny, sir. He knows you're really his father and I'm his brother but I think he needs to see both of us act like it right now."
Johnny ran down the stairs and headed for the door, looking forward to seeing Barranca. His father's voice, from the great room, stopped him in his tracks. He didn't think Murdoch would be inside the house in the middle of the day, instead of out on the range.
"John, come in here," Murdoch said. "You and I need to talk."
Johnny stepped into the doorway. He looked uneasy, his body poised for flight.
"Sit down, son," Murdoch said, pointing to the chair in front of the desk.
Johnny sat. He had wiped his feelings off his face, putting on his gunfighter's mask, and Murdoch felt his temper rise. He clamped down on it.
"I told Scott, when he came home, that I didn't know what to do with you," he finally said, his voice even. "I told him I was tempted to take you out to the barn, like any other father would do with any other sixteen-year-old boy who behaved like you were."
Johnny didn't say anything.
"Maybe I should have," Murdoch said.
Johnny's chin went up. "I'm not a kid."
"You're not an adult yet either, Johnny," Murdoch said. "You're sixteen years old, I am your father and the days when you were on your own and did as you pleased are over. You belong to a family and you have responsibilities to the rest of us, just as we have responsibilities to you. One of your responsibilities is not to do anything that's going to worry the rest of us sick, for no good reason at all. Do you realize that most work stopped on this ranch for the last few days while we looked for you?"
Johnny flushed. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice so soft that Murdoch could barely hear him. "I didn't think that anyone might find the horse."
"You didn't think about a lot of things, son," Murdoch said. "You just went off on your own, without telling anyone what was wrong. If you had told me what you heard, I would have straightened you out in a hurry."
Johnny stared at his boots. "I couldn't," he said.
"Why not, John? Do you think I haven't ever heard any of the talk in the valley about your mother?"
The blue eyes looked up, startled. "I didn't know."
"The next time you don't know something, ask someone who does know," Murdoch advised him. "And in this case, that would be me, not that loudmouth Deke Farley or any of his sons."
"I'm sorry," Johnny said again.
"I'm glad to hear it, but that doesn't repair the damage, does it?"
"No, sir," Johnny said.
Murdoch let him stew for a few minutes before he spoke again. "I loved your mother, Johnny, and we both loved you. No matter what happened later, you shouldn't ever have any doubt about that. The night you were born was the happiest in my life. I never paid any attention to any of the talk later. I know you're my son. I knew it even before you opened those blue eyes of yours and I could see my little brother again, looking up at me with those same eyes."
"Then why?" Johnny stopped.
"Go ahead and ask, son," Murdoch said.
"Why did she leave?"
"I wish I knew," Murdoch said. "Your mother was very young when you were born. She wasn't quite two years older than you are now. The ranch wasn't what she expected, she was lonely here and I don't think she was ready to settle down. I was spending all my time on the ranch, trying to build it up, and I didn't pay enough attention to how unhappy she was."
"Why would she take me?"
"She loved you, Johnny," Murdoch said. "Just as much as I did. If she had stopped to think, maybe she would have realized she should have left you here where you were safe. But she did love you and I doubt it ever occurred to her to leave you behind when she decided to leave. She just didn't think."
Johnny digested that. "Like me?"
"We've all done things without thinking, son," Murdoch said. "Me included. It doesn't mean you're like your mother or that you're like me. Mostly, it just means you have some growing up left to do."
"Oh." Johnny thought that over. Then he glanced up at his father out of the corner of one eye. He suddenly looked his age, or maybe even a little younger.
"Did you have another question, John?"
Johnny's restless fingers picked up a pencil from the desk and played with it. "You're not still thinking about taking me out to the barn, are you?"
"That depends. Am I going to feel again like I need to take you out there?"
"I can't promise you won't ever feel that way," Johnny said, his crooked smile tugging upward. "Only not so often."
Murdoch's mouth twitched. "Well, I suppose that's something. But I do think you and I have some unfinished business in the barn today and we should go and take care of it right now."
***
Scott didn't know what to think when he saw Murdoch and Johnny cross the yard together and go into the barn. He had told Murdoch that Johnny needed to see him act like a father, but this was not what he had in mind.
"Paul, I need to take care of something," he said to the foreman, swinging down off his horse. "I'll catch up with you later."
"Sure, Scott," Paul said.
Scott pushed open the barn door cautiously and listened. He didn't hear anything and he took a few steps inside.
Now he could hear voices, at the far end of the stalls, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. He edged a little closer, wondering what he should do if Murdoch had really lost his mind and decided to treat Johnny like a naughty child.
"You're going to spoil that horse," Murdoch said, his voice amused.
"He's not spoiled," Johnny said, leaning against the palomino as it nuzzled him happily.
Scott relaxed, feeling foolish. His father and brother were just visiting Barranca.
"Why don't you take him for a ride," Murdoch suggested to Johnny. "He's been fretting for a week now and he could use the exercise."
"Can I? Shouldn't I go help one of the crews?"
"Not today, Johnny," Murdoch said. "Sam told us you were sick while you were staying with the McDonalds. He doesn't want you doing any heavy chores yet. And you're not to ride for very long, either. One hour and then I want you back here."
"I'm all right," Johnny argued.
"You will do exactly as the doctor says," Murdoch said. "Do you hear me, John?"
"Yeah," Johnny said. "But I am all right, honest. Flora wouldn't have let me up if I wasn't."
"I'm sure she wouldn't. I'm also sure she wasn't letting you do many chores."
"No," Johnny admitted. "She got kind of mad at me yesterday when I tried."
"She's a good friend," Murdoch said. "She and Angus both. Sam said you seemed to like them too."
"I do." Johnny stroked Barranca. "How come they're all by themselves up there, Murdoch? Don't they have any kids?"
"They had a son, named Ian," Murdoch said. "He died of fever when he was young, before I came here, or Sam."
"Ian? That's a funny name."
"It's actually the same as yours," Murdoch said. "It's the Scottish form of John, like Juan is the Spanish."
"Really?"
Murdoch nodded. "I used to put you up in front of me on my horse and take you over there to visit, when you were just a baby. You loved to ride. And you loved Angus and Flora, just as much as they loved you."
"I don't remember."
"You were too little," Murdoch said. "But they remember. I've been meaning to take you over there to visit but there hasn't been time with all the spring work. I'm glad you found your way there."
"I told them I'd go back to finish up the repairs on the barn roof," Johnny said.
"What happened to the barn roof?"
"They lost some shingles in the storm," Johnny said. "And their road is washed out too."
"Sam told me about that," Murdoch said. "I was going to send someone over tomorrow to do something about the road."
"Can I go too?"
"We'll both go," Murdoch decided. "Only you're not going to help with the road, so don't even think about it, Johnny. And you're not going up on the barn roof either. Doc wants you to take it easy and this time you're going to follow his orders."
Scott moved out of the shadows to stand next to his brother. "Maybe I could help," he suggested. "And all three of us can spend the day together."
Murdoch smiled at both of his sons, finally home where they belonged. "Good idea," he said.
THE END
Whistle, January 2005